Fluke, skill, or luck, whatever it is doesn’t stick around for long. I get a shot on goal, and it’s stopped by the goalie’s glove. Next Jacobs has a crack at it, it rebounds off the goalie’s pads, and Asher finds it. There’s an opening now, and he tries to put it in, but out of nowhere, one of UConn’s defensemen takes a dive and blocks it with his body.
We may not be scoring, but on the bright side, I think it’s the first time we’ve worked as a team since Asher joined our line.
The first period ends with neither side putting one in the net, so at least we don’t have ground to make up.
Coach Hogan encourages us to keep fighting, keep taking shots on goal, and we’re bound to get one of them.
“Statistically speaking, we should’ve gotten one already.”
Beck shoves me.
On the way back out for the second period, Asher nudges me. “Guess all the bonding is doing something.”
We’ve hung out a few more times since that first night, once with Jacobs and Beck, a couple on our own, but with him helping out with his brothers and sisters, he doesn’t get much time to bond with everyone from the team.
Each time I tell Seth I’m hanging out with Asher, he gets a bit weird, but he never tries to stop me from going. I brought him once, but then all Asher wanted to talk about was Foster, so I think that rubbed Seth the wrong way too.
Seth knows I’m not interested in anyone else but him, and he trusts me, so I do find his slight jealousy kind of cute.
He swears Asher’s into me, but Asher has given no indication whatsoever that he’s interested in me or any other person when we’ve gone out. He hasn’t even hinted at being queer. He’s had a drink or two and then driven straight home.
“Let’s get out there and sink one,” I say.
“Or three.”
“Ambitious much?”
He turns and walks down the chute backward which is talented on skates. “First of us to get a hat trick gets free drinks tonight.”
With the smoother plays being run, I guess he’s found his confidence in us.
“You’re actually going to come out with the team to celebrate?”
“Only if we win.”
“Let’s make sure of it.”
The second period starts with a bang with Asher scoring within the first minute. He waggles his eyebrows at me. “One, zip. Gonna catch up?”
What is it about healthy competition that drives athletes to push harder and faster?
We’re taken off the ice for a shift change, where UConn scores, but the second our line is back on the ice, it’s on between Asher and me. Jacobs sets them up, and we keep knocking them in.
I score two back to back and glance at Asher. “What’s the score at again?”
“You can’t see it through my glove, but I’m giving you the finger.”
Suddenly, Asher and I are playing our own game, and while that would normally be frowned upon, the score is 3-1 to us, so our coaches certainly aren’t complaining.
With thirty seconds left in the second period, Asher scores through the five hole.
We’re both arrogant fucks during intermission.
“Took you long enough to work together,” Rossi says. He doesn’t seem as bitter over losing first line as Simms does, but when there are nights like tonight where it’s high scoring, I’m pretty sure no one cares who’s doing what.
This is still a team effort.
The coaches think so too, which is why in the third period, he gives the other lines more ice time. When we’re this far ahead, it’s risky to put other guys in but not completely stupid. Everyone needs their chance at ice time. It’s the only way to grow as a player.
Both Asher and I are itching to get back out there though. One goal, that’s all one of us needs.
UConn manages to put another one in the basket, bringing the score up to 4-2. I expect Coach to put us back in, but he doesn’t.
Not until Simms gets a stupid penalty that he’s known for and UConn scores on the power play.
The score is 4-3 now, and if we lose this after that magnificent second period, I’m gonna be pissed.
We get back out there, and the energy from before … it’s not exactly missing, but it seems like UConn has gotten an adrenaline high from almost coming back from certain loss, and they’re gunning for all of us.
They’re hitting harder and skating faster, and we spend most of the time in their zone just trying to stop them from scoring.
There’s still five minutes on the clock. This game is anyone’s, and I refuse to give up now. I will not let them score another—
Fuck!
They get one through Schofield’s legs, bringing the game to 4-4.
I want to collapse on the ice and cry.